


wulfsele ond wyrmheall

by solitariusvirtus



Series: AU! Concepts [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29701752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: “You look upon the Queen in The North, Lady of Winterfell and mistress of these lands, Lyanna is my name and of House Stark I hail.” She speaks the title in a voice that surprises even her. He must have understood something of her speech because he bows to her, not in the way one of her men would, but she recognises a sign of respect when she sees one.AU! The queen in the North meets a wanderer upon dragon wings.
Series: AU! Concepts [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/888528
Kudos: 12





	wulfsele ond wyrmheall

Queen Lyanna is certain she does her title little honour with the horrified expression plastered on her face. She’s also aware that trembling like a child in the seat of her forefathers won’t help the matters any. At least Claw is more comfortable; the she-wolf sleeps at her mistresses’ feet undisturbed. “And you are certain this beast you describe is real, or have the vapours of warm wine clouded your judgement, Thormund?” She sits up so to be better look at the man from such a point as to mark her superiority, though even such a claim is flimsy at best.

Thormund may be a notorious, cheap drunkard, but he is no liar by his fashion and thus not like to have spun some tale simply to cause mischief. If he says he saw a beast trice the size of a horse, then just such a being must have flow across their frozen skies. “My Queen, I saw what I saw, and I maintain the creature was trice as wide as your heartiest horse. But I perceived its rider was injured.”

Clamouring voices fill the hall. Lyanna hears enteritis and threats, and choice words she had hoped to avoid having to listen to ever again. Some ask for permission to mount their horses and hunt down both monster and rider, to wit meaning to exterminate them or if not drive them off to some other parts. Some counsel a gentler approach. Others think they should hold back, bar the gates and pray the gods their enemies expire or if not leave of their own volition. The Queen’s lips thin in a straight, stern line.

“Silence!” she roars over the tumult, her voice carrying through the cavernous hall. The Queen in the North steps down from her high seat. “I will not have you squabbling like children before my eyes. Lord Umber and Lord Bolton may ride out with me; Thormund shall show us the way.”

A general tide of disagreement rises from her men. _You are queen, Majesty. You cannot go, little Highness. Winterfell must never be without a Stark. It is your scared duty to the North, Your Highness. What should happen if the beast gets our Queen?_ And so it goes on, a constant stream that threatens to deafen her. Lyanna raises her hand to silence them, and the Greatjon does the rest for her, his voice as strong and commanding as his fist.

“I am going, and I shall hear no more of you,” Lyanna speaks before them with all the authority she can summon – she is Winter, and she will not be cowed; she cannot be. “Prepare supplies, medicine and food.” If the rider and his beast prove tractable, Lyanna may see what use she can make of the two. She abandons the hall, making for her chambers.

There she dons the breastplate of Sansa Stark, the much lamented, and takes with her Ice for what little protection it may afford. She cannot wield the sword properly – which is still unknown to her subjects; what a shame that would be in their eyes – but the sight of it is usually enough to incur the respect of whatever enemy comes knocking at the gates of her castle. If she were of stronger turn, able to do battle as the shieldmaidens of old tales; alas, her strength is not in arms.

Lyanna takes a deep breath. It is time to put to test her father’s prediction. “I am the North. I am the North. _I am the North._ ” The mantra keeps repeating over and over in her head long after she has ceased speaking it. “You stay here, old girl,” she tells the wolf who has followed at her heel as is her wont. Claw gives a soft whine, but listens to the command, her obedience a given.

Outside in the yard her mare waits for her already saddled. Lyanna is helped atop the docile beast, and kicks her flank as soon as she can, lest her courage fails her. The white flag and the gray banner of House Stark fly behind her. She rides and she is free once again for a brief interval. The wind in her face, the smell of fresh snow; she loves this most.

It turns out that even if Thormund hadn’t been with them, the intruders wouldn’t have been hard to spot. After all, a huge lizard-like creature crawling through the trees is not at all conspicuous. The beast has wings of great proportion from what Lyanna can see, but they are kept close to its massive body. She cannot make out the rider though. Thormund breaks through the rows and rides in front of her. Apparently alarmed at the quick approach, the beast lets out a mighty roar, releasing a river of flames. It sets her man alight like he’s nothing but a husk. Lyanna’s horse rears back, almost throwing her off, but her knees clamp tightly and she somehow manages to hold on. She loses sight of Thormund but can see the foe’s jaws flying open. This is her death. Gray eyes are wide with terror.

Just when she thinks that escape is past, a new voice yells out commands. She understands not one word, but the winged creature must, for its mouth closes and the danger seems to have passed. Lyanna watches a man in armour slide right off the back of the beast and can at this point make out the pommel of a great saddle. It is little wonder she did not see him; he is tall, but lean, even with his armour on; the head of his fell steed is more than enough to hide him.

Remembering herself, the young Queen holds up her white flag. The stranger nods but makes no move away from his companion. Lyanna climbs off her mare against the counsel of the lords. Thormund is rolling around in snow, trying to extinguish the fire. It seems to be working. 

Lyanna throws her satchel towards the intruder – she assumes he is a man, anyway. The beast’s tail picks it up and drops it in front of its rider. Lyanna stands impressed; clever creature and quick as well. She continues to observe the stranger. He rummages through the contents of the gift, then looks up at her. The enormous lizard lowers its tail, which had remained raised, might be as some manner of shield. Lyanna takes that as a sign that she can throw him other offerings without incurring a rain if fire. At least this way he will leave sooner. But her surprise is no small thing when the rider casts away his helmet and yells something out. She cannot understand the words, the same as last time, but the gesture is clear enough. The Queen follows his lead and removes her own helmet. Too far away is he for her to make out his reaction clearly. The beast at his side flaps its wings, but for some reason does not take flight. Could it be that the fragile membrane has suffered some sort of damage, though no tears are to be seen?

Next the man relinquishes his sword at the side of his discarded helmet. Lyanna mirrors him, but she just places Ice gently to the ground, near enough to grab for at need. The gods know she plays a dangerous game here. Lord Bolton – young Domeric, whom she cannot quite think of as Lord Bolton yet – calls out a warning, which is promptly ignored. Lyanna is too concentrated on the rider who is slowly advancing towards her. It becomes clear to her that he as well bears some form of injury or deep hurt. The way he steps gives him away. She decides that it is best to meet him halfway.

“You look upon the Queen in The North, Lady of Winterfell and mistress of these lands, Lyanna is my name and of House Stark I hail.” She speaks the title in a voice that surprises even her. He must have understood something of her speech because he bows to her, not in the way one of her men would, but she recognises a sign of respect when she sees one. He replies in that tongue she does not know, and seems to be asking something of her. “You shall have my protection and care so long as you are a guest in my realm,” she offers, then she points to the beast, “but that creature must remain outside the walls of Winterfell and it must not harm my subjects or your life and its own shall be forfeit.”

The stranger bows his head in something that must be agreement. He turns towards the beast and utters a series of commands, upon the end of which the monster plops down in the snow. Lyanna hardly knows how to communicate with this fellow. He is certainly intelligent enough to understand her meaning when she utters words, but she cannot seem to grasp his when he deigns to do the same. Perhaps one of the learned men may know the queer tongue or anything close to it. Or if not then the sailors of White Harbor may be called upon for aid.

Her thoughts turn the matter over with no true success. 

**Author's Note:**

> Found some old stuff in a dark, web-filled corner. Decided to put it up because at this point who even cares.


End file.
